Solstice
by LadyHeatherlly
Summary: Sir Lancelot and his beautiful lady discover more than one way to keep warm on a cold winter's night.
1. Part I: The Journey Home

**Title:** Solstice  
**Category:** Het (Canon AU)  
**Characters/Pairings:** Lancelot/Guinevere  
**Rating/Warnings:** M  
**Summary:** Sir Lancelot and his beautiful lady discover more than one way to keep warm on a cold winter's night.

**Author's Note:** Wish fulfillment for Narasconegia, as part of our 2012 Gift Exchange at The Heart of Camelot. This one is fluffier than freshly fallen snow, just the way you wanted it. _Happy Holidays!_

* * *

**Part I: The Journey Home**

Lancelot dismounted stiffly, tossing the reins to the waiting stable boy with a ghost of a smile, before he turned and trudged wearily up the palace steps.

The other knights were uncharacteristically silent as they trailed after him through the corridors, the light banter that usually surrounded them replaced by nothing more than the sound of heavy, plodding footsteps that echoed through the cavernous halls. Even Gwaine was quiet, walking with his head down and his arms wrapped tightly around his chest as he visibly shivered in the aftermath of the biting cold winds they had only recently left behind.

Their mission had been successful, an impromptu quest to carry supplies to one of the poorest outlying villages who'd lost their meager stores in an unfortunate fire just a few days before. The villagers had invited them to stay the night, showing their gratitude with offers of hot meals and warm pallets beside their simple hearths, but the knights had only shaken their heads and wished them well before heading back out into the chilly afternoon air and pointing their mounts toward home.

On any other night, they might have accepted the offer of hospitality... but tomorrow was Yuletide, and every man among them was determined to spend every minute of it with his loved ones. And so they rode steadily throughout the rest of the day and well into the night, shivering in their saddles when the sun dipped below the horizon and a heavy snowfall obscured their already limited visibility. They traveled slowly, painstakingly navigating the icy roads, but they never faltered, nor was there a single suggestion that they might be better off giving up and finding shelter until morning.

It was nearly midnight when they finally rode through the gates of Camelot, down the snowy, deserted streets and into the empty courtyard. But it was with an exhausted feeling of triumph that they bid each other goodnight, then turned away to seek their separate quarters.

Only Lancelot lingered in the hallway when the others had departed, casting away the thought of his warm, comfortable bed as he headed back outside into the frigid night air.

The snow was coming down hard; he was barely able to see more than a few steps in front of his weary feet. But they carried him to his destination nonetheless, for it was a journey he'd made a hundred times or more, one that was as familiar to him as drawing his next breath.

His fingers closed around the door handle by pure instinct; he could no longer see at all in what was swiftly turning into a raging blizzard, blinding white flurries swirling violently around his head as the latch clicked into place and he quietly slipped inside.

The first thing his senses registered was warmth, wrapping around his frigid skin like a blanket as he stepped into the cozy little room. But that was nothing to the flood of gentle heat that seemed to melt away any memory of his bitterly cold journey as his eyes fell upon Gwen seated at the rough wooden table.

She was fast asleep.

Lancelot smiled tenderly as he took in the sight. Her head was resting on one arm, a cascade of dark, tousled curls spread out over the table. Her beautiful features were soft and peaceful, lips slightly parted as she gave a barely audible sigh.

It was only after he had looked his fill (if such a thing were even possible) that he noticed the two plates in front of her, twin sets of silverware, a pair of chipped glass mugs, that he realized she'd been waiting for him.

She'd known he would come.

As quietly as possible, Lancelot unfastened the clasp at his throat, then hung his cloak on a peg beside the door. He removed his chain mail, glad to be rid of the cold, heavy metal that weighed him down, then pulled off his gloves and loosened the ties of his padded undershirt, easing it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

His boots came next, followed by several pairs of damp socks and then finally, he was clad in only a comfortable cotton tunic and trousers, not entirely dry, but lighter and far more comfortable than the sodden layers of outerwear that lay in a pile in the corner.

And then he crept across the room on silent feet, wondering to himself what might be the best way to wake Gwen from her peaceful slumber. He smiled just a little when he reached her, leaning over to press the lightest of kisses to her soft cheek, barely a whisper of a touch, but somehow, he knew it would be enough.

She moaned softly and lifted her head, blinking in confusion for a minute or two, before her drowsy eyes fell upon Lancelot where he knelt beside her chair.

The corners of her mouth turned up in a sleepy smile. "You're late."

"I know," he said quietly, reaching up to smooth away the tangle of curls that fell across her forehead. "I'm sorry, it couldn't be helped."

"Kiss me, and I'll forgive you," she responded, the huskiness of sleep still evident in her voice, even as her eyes brightened with a mischievous twinkle.

And just as the tinkling of bells echoed through the city, his lips met hers. His kiss was slow and tender, drawn out in time with the melodious chimes that sounded from the tower of the Citadel in the distance. One... two... three... it was only when the 12th and final peal had faded into silence that he pulled back just a little.

"Happy Yuletide," he whispered against her mouth, holding her close as one hand slid beneath her loose dressing gown to caress her bare back.


	2. Part II: Where We Belong

**Part II: Where We Belong**

"Lancelot!" Gwen shrieked, pulling out of his arms so abruptly that the chair behind her toppled over with a crash. She teetered precariously for an instant, but he caught her around the waist just in time to prevent her from falling over.

The alarm on his face changed to a momentary flicker of bewilderment as she suddenly broke into peals of merry laughter.

"Your hands are like ice!"

Lancelot grinned back at her, wondering how any part of him could possibly be cold with the way she was smiling up at him, all rosy cheeks and sweet, loving eyes. "Forgive me," he said, instinctively reaching up to caress the curve of her face without even realizing what he was doing. "I should have..."

Gwen let out another squawk of protest, prompting a slightly embarrassed chuckle from Lancelot. "I'm sorry, I..."

"You can't keep your hands off me," she finished for him, the underlying pleasure in her voice contradicting the mock sternness in her eyes. "Go change out of these damp clothes and warm yourself by the fire while I prepare some food for you."

Reluctant to leave her side, yet always happy to do as she commanded, Lancelot strode across the room and began to undress. He kept his eyes planted on her back as she busied herself at the stove, smiling to himself as she peeked over one shoulder and allowed her gaze to linger on his bare chest, before realizing he was watching and turning away with an audible sniff.

"Hang those things up so they can dry properly. Don't just leave them on the floor."

"Of course," Lancelot responded solicitiously, slipping into a pair of loose woolen trousers that felt soft and warm against his chilly skin.

He hung up the clothing he'd just removed, then crept quietly to the corner, a slightly guilty look on his face as he untangled the sodden ball of outerwear and spread his cloak over a chair to dry. He thought he heard a muffled giggle, but by the time he looked up, Gwen's attention was focused on the steaming hot stew she was spooning into a pair of wooden bowls.

"Come eat, Lancelot," she said gently, as she set the food on the table. "You must be famished."

As the fragrance of cooked meat and warmed bread filled his senses, Lancelot was overwhelmed by a wave of hunger. It had been easy to ignore practical needs in his eagerness to be with Gwen, but suddenly, all he could think about was filling his empty belly. He eagerly devoured the thick, hot stew, not noticing that the meat was burnt or the slightly acrid flavor of the singed vegetables until she spoke again.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, as she stared down into her own bowl with a disappointed expression. "I was trying to keep it warm for you, but..." she trailed off helplessly. "I can make you something else if you like. I don't mind."

"No," Lancelot mumbled around a mouthful of dry, flavorless bread. "This is delicious, Gwen. Thank you."

She rolled her eyes, just before the corners of her mouth quivered in amusement. "Well, if you're enjoying it so much, please... have mine too."

A few minutes later, Lancelot leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile, warm and content as he gazed at Gwen lovingly from across the table. Practical as always, she immediately rose to clear away the empty bowls, but he stopped her with a firm, yet gentle hand upon her wrist.

"Leave it until morning," he urged, and with a sigh of surrender, she came willingly as he pulled her down to sit on his lap. Her mouth immediately sought his as she nestled against his chest, tangy with the flavor of the spiced cider she'd been drinking. She murmured in approval as he deepened the kiss, then whimpered just a little as he dipped his head to press his lips against the soft skin of her throat.

"Mmmmm..."

"Still want me to keep my hands to myself?" he whispered huskily, the words low and intimate as he paused to let his warm breath tickle the sensitive contours of her ear.

Gwen shivered in response, a deep blush coloring her cheeks as she shook her head much more vigorously than she'd probably meant to.

Without hesitation, Lancelot lifted her in his arms carried her to the bed. He undressed her slowly, then watched hungrily as she sank down onto the mattress and stretched out naked before him. Unlacing the ties of his trousers and letting them fall to the floor, he marveled over her exquisite beauty as he devoured the vision of her soft, inviting curves, the silky fall of curls that cascaded across the pillow, the unmistakable longing in her velvety dark eyes as she reached out a hand and beckoned him to joined her...

* * *

Much later, after Lancelot had made love to Gwen with a slow, yet fierce intensity that had left them both astonished, they lay face to face, bodies still entwined, exchanging soft, drowsy kisses as they basked in the rosy afterglow of their passion.

"Marry me, Gwen," he whispered huskily against her lips, feeling her steal the breath from his mouth as she gasped in surprise.

He hadn't meant to just blurt it out like that. No, he'd had a careful plan, from the heartfelt vows he'd rewritten a hundred times, to the secluded garden where he'd meant to take her on the morrow. He'd planned to kneel at her feet amidst the bloom of winter roses, and ask...no, _beg_ her to do him the honor of becoming his wife as he slipped the delicately jeweled silver band on her finger.

But somehow after he'd said it, a reaction that was as natural as the love he felt for her, it seemed _right_ somehow. Here in the room where he'd first laid eyes on her sweet face. Here, where there were no fancy trappings, no unnecessary pretenses or any other formalities. Here, where the world outside ceased to exist; where they were simply Lancelot and Gwen, without any barriers between the two bodies, two hearts, two souls, that lay entwined beneath the slightly worn blankets.

Tears shimmered in Gwen's eyes as she stared back at him; he understood her well enough to interpret the mingled joy and hesitation in their depths. He smoothed a tangle of thick, black curls away from her forehead as he waited patiently for her response, already knowing what she was about to say.

"Nothing would make me happier," she whispered a little unsteadily, clinging to him more tightly as she buried her face in the curve of his neck. "But..."

"Arthur, he finished, unsurprised when he felt her nod.

"Look at me, Gwen."

And when she raised her head, he saw it all on her face... the guilt that had plagued her when she'd made her choice, the awful memories of their temporary banishment, and even before that, traces of the loneliness they'd both suffered in the futile attempt to stifle their love. It was all there, as she stood before the last remaining barrier that existed between them: the acceptance of the king who had turned a blind eye in the year since their return.

"Arthur's okay with it," he murmured, rubbing her back in soothing circles as he spoke. "Really, he is."

"How can you be sure? You know Arthur isn't exactly the type to discuss his feelings."

Lancelot smiled at the memory. "Because he told me that if I didn't marry you soon, he would launch an investigation into a breach of the Knight's Code. Lack of chivalry or dishonorable intentions, or..."

Gwen interrupted him with a laugh, and he immediately joined in, relieved to see that the sad, haunted look had disappeared from her eyes. "Really?" she asked, looking endearingly hopeful as her laughter faded away.

"Really," he confirmed with a gentle smile. "Please, Gwen, say you'll marry..."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, cutting him off with a single breathless word. "Yes, I'll..."

But this time, it was Gwen who was interrupted, as Lancelot took advantage of her open mouth, capturing it in a deep, hungry, and exceedingly grateful kiss.

It was some time later when he slipped from the bed, reluctant to leave the cozy nest of thick blankets and Gwen's warm, drowsy embrace as he padded barefoot across the icy room without bothering to dress. He fumbled in the pocket of the discarded trousers he'd worn on his journey home, knowing a moment of panic before he delved deeper and felt his hand brush against the tiny circle of silver.

Withdrawing it with a sigh of relief, he crept back across the room and knelt down beside Gwen, ignoring the shock of the cold, hard floor that pressed into his knees as he reached for her hand in the dim light of the swiftly dwinding fire.

She was fast asleep.

Lancelot's mouth curved into a tender smile as he slipped the ring on her finger anyway, taking a moment to gaze at her soft, peaceful face before he crawled beneath the covers and wrapped his arms around her slumbering body.

His eyes drifted shut with a deep feeling of contentment, of belonging, as he held her close to his heart... the woman he'd waited for, suffered for, very nearly died for time and again.

It had all been worth it, for at long last, she was truly his.


End file.
